


Close your eyes and feel me here

by sdwolfpup



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Gen, Oathfamily, Sharing a Bed, good parents jaime & brienne, post 8x03, this fic is extremely soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: She should order Pod to rest, bid Jaime goodbye and head to her own room to be alone.But she couldn't. She didn't wish to be alone at all.**********After the Battle of Winterfell, Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick need a nap.





	Close your eyes and feel me here

**Author's Note:**

> Title cribbed from James Arthur's "From the Grave." Thanks to romantical for looking it over for me!

They stood frozen amongst the corpses long after the bodies had stopped moving, as still as the dead themselves until Pod broke the spell by hoarsely whispering “Sers?”

Brienne startled and time snapped into motion again. She gulped in air, her chest heaving like an exhausted horse's. Every breath was both agony and revelation, a reminder she was alive against all odds. 

“Sers,” Podrick repeated. “It's over.” He was slumped against the wall near Jaime, his sword point down in the muck. 

“How?” That was Jaime, staring aimlessly at the pile of bodies, blood and dirt a thick mask over his handsome face. 

“I don't know, ser.”

Brienne wanted to talk but it felt like too much effort. Now that the buzz and clarion call of battle had gone silent, all she could hear were their gasping breaths and the growing ache and exhaustion of her body. 

“Are you all right?” Jaime said to Brienne, and she managed to nod and found the strength to ask, “You?”

“I'm standing. Pod?”

The young man nodded. “Well enough.” 

Brienne focused all her energy on her sword arm, gritting her teeth and grunting just to lift it enough to sheathe it, still filthy, into its scabbard. She could clean it later, could clean herself later. She had to find out what had happened to Bran Stark, to the Night King, to the Queen and King and Lady Sansa. 

She stared at the pile of bodies in front of them, at the limbs and blood and unearthly muck of so much death. The small hill of corpses may as well have been a mountain. Somehow Jaime pushed himself off of the wall and took a small, shuffling step towards her holding out his golden hand. Brienne exhaled and grabbed it, not using it as leverage so much as an injection of willpower until she was standing on her own trembling legs. Jaime turned to Pod and held his other hand out to the young man and for a moment they all stood there, connected through the line of their hands, Jaime at the center bringing them together, until Brienne let go. 

They heaved and struggled over the barrier of bodies, Brienne tugging Jaime at one point, Podrick helping Brienne at another, until they'd all somehow clambered over and were panting and free on the other side. She could see others moving now: Grey Worm striding slow but surely back to the gates, calling for his queen; The Hound blinking against the incoming dawn; Ser Davos staring at something in the distance, a look Brienne could not hope to understand on his face. Men were groaning all around them, shoving dead bodies off of each other, examining wounds. There would be screaming soon, she expected, as there always was on the battlefield as soldiers began to discover the new wounds and pains of their bodies. 

It made more sense for them to split up, but Brienne said, “this way,” and both men followed her towards the Godswood. 

They walked through whatever path they could pick out amongst the corpses, Brienne half-expecting the bodies to leap to their feet again every moment. She would fall if they did; she barely had the strength to push one foot in front of the other. Winterfell stood, but huge chunks of wall were crushed under the body of a dead dragon, and there was the acrid taste of ash on the air from all the wood that had burned and still smoldered. The air felt heavy, the weight of the bodies strewn around them muffling all sound. It would take months to fix Winterfell again; days just to clear all the dead. 

They arrived at the Godswood to find Arya and Bran still as statues, except for the dagger Arya tapped against her leg. Bodies littered the area, and Brienne noticed Theon Greyjoy's a short distance away. Jon Snow was there as well, staring around wild-eyed. “How did you do it?” he was asking as they walked up. 

“I took your advice,” Arya said, pointing the tip of her dagger at pile of ice near her feet. 

Jon laughed a little, a broken, choked sound, and he nodded. “Then it's over. The Ice King is defeated,” he added, raising his voice for the small crowd that was forming. “Arya Stark has saved us all!”

A low cheer rumbled through those gathered, but they all felt near death themselves and it faded almost as quickly as it started, swallowed by the snow and bodies. 

“We must see to our people,” Jon said. “You've all fought bravely. We're all exhausted. But there is still work-” his words died on his lips as his eyes widened, and when Brienne looked behind her she saw Queen Daenerys standing there weeping, her white hair and clothes stained with blood, Grey Worm just behind with the body of Jorah Mormont on a ripped flag at his feet. Jon pushed past and herded the Queen away, leaving the crowd behind. 

“That's our cue,” Jaime murmured. “Unless you wish to be conscripted for clean-up, now's the time to retire to our chambers.” 

“I won't leave the work to others,” Brienne said, although she wasn't sure how she would move her arms enough to be useful. 

Jaime seemed to sense her hesitance because he said, “don't give them your body to clean up as well. Rest for a bit, that's all. There will be plenty of time to help.” 

“Ser Jaime is right,” Pod added. “The dead will be dead for awhile now, I think.”

“I must at least check on Lady Sansa. And your brother.” 

Jaime's eyes darkened with worry and he nodded. “Lead the way.” 

They met Tyrion and Sansa halfway to the crypts, with many, but not all, of the women and children behind them. 

“You lived,” Tyrion said in a raspy voice. 

Jaime nodded. “It seemed uncertain for a time. I would have certainly died if not for Ser Brienne,” he added, smiling a little at her. Brienne flushed. 

“You saved my life as well, ser.” She could feel Tyrion watching her with that shrewd, curious stare of his. “You are well, Lady Sansa?”

“Yes, thank you. What happened?”

“Your sister, Arya, slayed the Night King.” 

Sansa's mouth formed a perfect, round o. “What, really?” 

“Yes, my lady. The white walkers have been defeated.”

“By my sister.” Sansa smiled. “I should have known it would be her. You look like you need sleep, and a bath first. I can have someone bring hot water to your room.” 

“Oh, no my lady, a short rest and then I'll help clean up Winterfell.” Though she knew Sansa had lived through many horrors she felt compelled to add, “it is not pleasant out on the grounds. There are many, many dead.”

“My sister is not the only one who has faced death,” Sansa said. “We can help with the injured.” She inclined her head and Brienne shuffled out of her way, let her and Tyrion lead the others past and out into the worst of it. 

Brienne, Jaime, and Podrick stood silently, all of them swaying on their feet, exhausted, but seemingly unwilling to move. She should order Pod to rest, bid Jaime goodbye and head to her own room to be alone. 

But she couldn't. She didn't wish to be alone at all. She had known where Jaime was every second of the battle, had fought near him without even consciously being aware most of the time beyond the comforting presence of him at her back. She'd known when he had been in danger and had, without thought, turned to help him, and he'd done the same for her in return. That draw between them now, the sense of him, his every movement, still lingered. She clung to it, holding it like a shield before the shaking and the terror she'd been pushing away since the first dead had come screeching out of the dark.

Jaime was watching her now, and his eyes lit by the sunrise were bright beacons. “Tyrion snores,” he said suddenly. 

Brienne frowned. “Pardon?”

“Like a bear, especially after he's been drinking. So, all the time.” Podrick's lips twitched into a smile. “Pod here is in the common room with a whole host of others. It will be less crowded now of course,” his voice dropped solemnly. “But neither is a good place for rest.” Jaime took a step nearer and Brienne licked her lips, tasted blood and dirt. “How are your accommodations?”

“I have a room of my own.” Brienne swallowed hard. What if she were misreading his meaning? But they had survived an onslaught of the dead by trusting in each other, in their understanding of each other. She could still trust that now when their lives weren't on the line. “Room enough for three I would say.”

Jaime exhaled a little, looking relieved. “Then perhaps...?”

Pod frowned, confused. But when Brienne nodded sharply and turned on her heel, he and Jaime followed without question. As they delved deeper into Winterfell's halls, the damage lessened, the stench of rot and doom dissipated. By the time they arrived at the door to her room, the air was clear and calm. She led them inside and shut the door behind them, glancing around. All was as she had left it when Podrick had helped her into her armor hours ago. 

“Help Ser Jaime,” she told Podrick now, and the young man nodded and started helping Jaime out of his armor while Brienne set to her own. 

“Where shall I put it, ser?” He was holding the first vambrace and looking about the room. 

“Just on the floor,” Brienne said tiredly. “We'll deal with it later.” 

Jaime had his armor off before Brienne was even half-done, so Pod came and helped her with hers while Jaime tried to stretch his arms out and groaned. 

“I don't think I could lift a fork right now,” he muttered. 

“I don't think I could chew,” Pod said, dropping Brienne's breast plate to the ground with a crash. She glared at him and he ducked his head. “Sorry, ser.” 

“Try to be a little careful. We should be glad we're not dead,” she added. 

“We very nearly were.” Jaime sat on the edge of the bed and took off his golden hand. Brienne watched him trace the lines of it thoughtfully. “They were relentless.”

She felt her hands tremble and knew it wasn't the tiredness that caused it, but the memory of the dead pouring like a wave over of them. 

Podrick sniffed from where he knelt at her feet, working at her boots. “Podrick?” she said softly. He didn't look at her, just kept working, though she saw his hand dart quickly to his face. Brienne looked up at Jaime, who looked as uncertain as she felt. “Pod,” she said again, and he looked up slowly. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were red and shining and threatening tears. “That's enough now,” she said, helping him to his feet. “I can get the rest. Lie down.”

“But ser-”

“Lie down,” she said firmly. “The two of you can have the bed. I'll sleep in my bedroll on the floor.”

“That's absurd,” Jaime said. 

“I have spent many more nights in uncomfortable beds than you,” Brienne said primly. Released from her armor her body felt hundreds of pounds lighter, but she also felt like her skin was on fire from every scratch and bruise she'd acquired that was now exposed to the cold air. 

“I highly doubt that.” Jaime sounded offended. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Pod said thickly. “It's no trouble.”

“That makes no sense,” Brienne said. “Then it would just be me and Ser Jaime on the bed.” She couldn't even meet Jaime's sharp-eyed stare when she said it, and she knew she was blushing. She hoped her face was dirty enough they couldn't tell. 

“Well I'm not sleeping alone on the bed while the two of you sleep on the floor,” Jaime said. “So now what? We all sleep on the floor while a perfectly good bed goes unused? That's madness.” 

“We could all sleep on the bed,” Podrick said uncertainly. 

Brienne eyed the bed, considering. It would be very tight with the three of them but it could be done. Lady Sansa had given her a room with one of the bigger beds, Brienne suspected in deference to her size. It had been made for two; adding a third person would be uncomfortable. But they were all as drained as they were stubborn and Brienne would fall asleep on her feet in a moment if they argued any longer. 

“Fine,” she said between clenched teeth. She watched Jaime set his golden hand down on top of his armor, remove his gambeson so he was just in a linen shirt that clung to his sweaty, muscular back. “You are in the middle, Podrick,” she added hastily. That she would not change her mind on, and she was grateful when neither argued it. 

Podrick climbed in and tucked his arms tight against his body, making himself as small as he could. Brienne stood on one side of the bed and Jaime on the other, watching each other. There had not been a fire in the room for almost a full day and it was cold, but Brienne could barely feel it. She could only feel the warmth of Jaime's gaze as he took her in, beating back the fear as he'd beat back the wights that had overwhelmed her. 

“Sers?” Pod said.

Jaime smiled a little and climbed onto the bed, turning on his side to face Brienne. “Well?” he said, his voice much deeper than it had any right to be. “You too, my lady.” 

Brienne climbed awkwardly onto the space left her, turning on her side to face away from Pod and Jaime. She felt Podrick relax at her back, was unsurprised to hear the way his breathing deepened and slowed almost immediately. The young man had been in battle before, but no one had been in a battle like that. She would have thought she'd follow him quickly to sleep, but she couldn't stop remembering the faces of the men she'd been fighting with twisted and coming to kill the three of them. She could still feel the stone walls of Winterfell at their backs, holding them in place as she swung over and over, wondering when the final blow would come, who it would come for first, and what she would do if Jaime were the next wight she had to fight. 

She heard Jaime clear his throat softly in the room, bringing her back to the present and she realized he was staring expectantly at her back. 

As quietly as she could she turned over onto her other side to face him, pillowing her head on her right arm and returning Jaime's gaze. “What?” she mouthed tensely, not wanting to wake Podrick. 

Jaime pursed his lips then shifted so his left arm, the arm he laid on, reached around the top of Pod's head across the pillows towards her. He lifted his eyebrows hopefully, his hand open and waiting. He looked as haunted as she was by all they'd seen. Pod sighed softly between them, settling further into sleep. They had survived a battle with the dead, they were together still, when Brienne had been sure they would be ripped apart, had felt it as a thin line of dread on her spine even as she fought monsters at her front. Surely that was more terrifying than this quiet moment and Jaime's calloused hand held out for her. But it was not exhaustion she fought to move her arm and wind it carefully so as not to wake Podrick, timidly resting her palm on top of Jaime's. 

As soon as their hands touched, he wrapped his fingers around hers and she felt warm all over, felt the fear and adrenaline and memories fade and peace flow in in their place. Brienne gripped his hand in return and the lines in his forehead smoothed, his eyes went soft. Jaime nodded, squeezed her hand and held it there before he shut his eyes and relaxed into the bed. She stared at their hands, still filthy, at his thumb curled protectively over her wrist where the pulse beat. Brienne closed her eyes, too, and instead of dark nightmares she fell asleep to pleasant dreams, with Pod's soft breathing like a gentle breeze, and Jaime's hand in hers the sun of a long and happy summer.


End file.
